Poetry from Nathan Anderson

Tired

    

     Gone
like desolation chambers stalled down Main Street, housed in broken palaces, eaten by wolves. Said to be happier without stone and flame, said to be sleepless over trenches and hand pumped electrical diodes.

Screaming into the void.

She said she would not follow anymore. She said she had been made as constellation. She said she could not stand upon a single foot and would not wear a skull upon her head to seat her holy houses.

How can it be that standing straight and staring into emptiness has become a criminal offence?

How can it be that wishing to be sold as soil is open to the breaking pace of move and move and move!

How can it be that as she speaks she goes on loosing threads throughout her eyes until she simply sits and contemplates, finding enlightenment in figures of silver and gold?

How can we sit on grasses weightlessly and worthlessly, speaking tongues, waiting for projections to arrive in their abundance, screeching and embracing as they come and go at our command?

Wait I cannot see your eyes, I cannot walk this mezzanine and stride too perfectly without these tired lips.

How do you preach and wake so naked in the house of holy blood and money, slaked of thirst and waiting for the broom to help you sweep the floor?

Help me end this endless gloom, help me weep upon this stone, this sand that broke from stone.

      Gone I said.
Gone.

One Hundred and Fifty Thousand Dollars

Bloodshed
against this vast canal
wearing aimlessly the
notion of hereditary opalescence

Martyr    Martyr    Martyr    Martyr

Hear the drip-drip-drip
of iron clad boats
carrying these serfs
addressed to ridiculous
superfluous
whatever
whatever
whatever

Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red, yellow, pink, green. Red yellow pink green. Redyellowpinkgreen. Redyellowpinkgreenredyellowpinkgreenredyellowpinkgreenredyellowpinkgreenredyellowpinkgreenrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrypgrlpgrlpgrl………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Martyr   Martyr    Martyr    Martyr

Manufacture both 3 and 6

Take electrode and hide beneath
systemic happenstance
probing find
triangulation through
lips
lips
lips

Take car battery and sit within
consultation reply
injecting fluid
locate triangulation
here
here
here

Take speed velocity and live without
pliable elbow
sitting malformed
love triangulation
now
now
now

A Jaw Complete

Slack rope and add to evolution
slip and fall
as metallurgy
leads the acid break

                                    Stymied without skin
                                    rocking on the bell
                                    as shore
                                    and shoreline
                                    please the carnivore

Lamp shine and water slip
sanded on the edge
positive
against
negative
against
positive
against
negative

                      Repeat Ad infinitum 

Sadhu Dreams

Are you waking
tired Sadhu
have you seen the emblems
falling from their perches
take your ribbon
hang it from the
bent spoke

Are you silent
waking Sadhu
have you touched regression
and its parted lips
place the emblem
by the river
dancing
as a bird

Bio: Nathan Anderson is a writer from Mongarlowe, Australia. He is the author of the poetry book Deconstruction of a Symptom (Alien Buddha Press) and has had work appear in Otoliths, Gone Lawn and elsewhere. You can find him at nathanandersonwriting.home.blog or on Twitter @NJApoetry. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *